


i love you because i know no other way than this

by thewalrus_said



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: And An Attempt to Heal, Discussions of Bad Relationship Dynamics, Don't copy to another site, M/M, episode coda, post 173
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24935095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewalrus_said/pseuds/thewalrus_said
Summary: Martin reckons with himself, and he and Jon start to try and fix things.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 20
Kudos: 117





	i love you because i know no other way than this

**Author's Note:**

> Because this episode hurt me very badly, and I didn't want to leave it there.

They’d been holding hands, out of practicality more than affection; Martin could barely see his hand in front of his face as they’d set off again after Jon’s statement and, as raw as Martin felt, neither of them wanted to lose each other in the darkness. Jon’s hand was cold and clammy, and his fingers didn’t cling to Martin’s like they normally did.

Jon, a few steps ahead of him, exhaled sharply, and then Martin, following behind him, was squinting in the sudden red light of the rest of the world. It wasn’t  _ bright, _ exactly, the world hadn’t been brightly lit since before the Change, but after the dim grimness of the child hell Martin’s eyes started watering immediately.

Jon dropped Martin’s hand like it was on fire. “I have to,” he stammered, staggering away, and Martin let him go. There was a house a few dozen meters away, and Jon disappeared behind it.

Martin put his back to a dead tree and sank to the ground, running a hand through his hair. His chest felt awful, hollow and scraped clean, like someone had dug his heart out of his chest with ragged fingernails. He let it wash over him, unable to do anything else, until eventually the misery began to recede, inch by agonizing inch. Those poor  _ kids. _

Those poor kids, but also, poor Jon. Forced to see it all, to  _ live _ it all, and Martin had... Well. Jon had been fighting tooth and nail to force back the hell, and Martin had made him  _ perform  _ instead, like some sort of ghoulish dancing monkey. And worse...  _ Thank you for not hitting me this time. _ There hadn’t been a hint of accusation in Jon’s voice, and that cut Martin worse than anything else.

He hadn’t hit Jon out of, of any  _ emotion, _ in the Desolation, and in the Web. Not out of a desire to punish Jon, or to hurt him. It had been simple expediency, the only way to snap him out of a statement when Martin needed him to. It wasn’t  _ abusive, _ Martin told himself, just practical.

Even as he thought it, he knew it wasn’t true. He’d snapped Jon out of it this time with just a shake. He’d hit Jon,  _ Jon, _ his  _ partner, _ and he was going to have to live with that.

Martin hadn’t cried since the Change, and he didn’t cry now, although his eyes got dry and prickly-painful and his chest grew, somehow, more hollow. He just sat there, head in his hands, hating himself.

Eventually, an awareness of time passing crept in past the self-loathing, and he looked up. Jon’s ventings never took this long, never more than twenty minutes, and it had been at least an hour. And anyway Jon had vented back in the darkness, Martin had  _ made _ him, so what was he doing now? Martin pushed himself to his feet.

It wasn’t until he turned around the back of the house and saw Jon sitting there that he realized he had expected Jon to have run. It would have made sense; Martin wanted to run from  _ himself. _ But instead Jon was curled up, bony elbows on bonier knees, the heels of his hands pressed so hard into his eye sockets Martin was almost afraid he was digging them out. “Jon?” he ventured softly.

Jon’s head snapped up, and then back down as he wiped his face on his arm. Not fast enough to hide the tear tracks,  _ actual tear tracks. _ “Are you okay?” Martin asked, sinking down to the ground near him.

“I’m fine,” Jon said, pushing himself to his feet. Martin looked up at him. “Ready to keep going.”

“Don’t lie to me, Jon. Please.” Jon was looking everywhere but at Martin, fidgeting worse than Martin had ever seen him. “You’re not fine. How could you be fine?”

“I’m fine enough to keep going.”

Jon took a step away, and Martin snapped, “Jon, sit back down.” Jon froze and then slowly eased himself into a cross-legged position, still not looking at Martin. “Sorry,” Martin said, “god, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to order you.”

“It’s okay,” Jon said, fiddling with a loose thread on his trousers.

“No, it’s  _ not, _ none of this is okay.” Now it was Martin’s turn to dig his palms into his eyes, shaking his head. “Look, Jon, I— I messed up, back there, I know I did. And, and before.” He blinked his eyes back open to see Jon staring at him. “I’ve messed up a lot.”

“Martin, it’s alright.” Jon sounded a little surprised.

“No it  _ isn’t,” _ Martin said, insistent. “I used you, I used you like a stick to beat myself with, and I shouted at you, and I made you pull up what you were trying to repress, and, and, for fuck’s sake, I  _ hit _ you! None of that is alright!” He rubbed a hand over his face again, almost wishing he could cry to let out some of the angry frustration he was feeling at himself. “And you’ve been sat there for an hour crying, and it’s my fault.”

“It’s  _ not _ your fault that I’ve been crying,” Jon said firmly, putting a hand out. “That’s just the world. It usually doesn’t get to me as badly as it did this time, but, well. Children.” He tried a smile that did nothing to soothe Martin. “Look, alright, neither of us were at our best back there, but I’ve had worse. I’ve done worse to myself, even.”

“Not from me,” Martin said, shaking his head. “I’m supposed to be better to you, I’m your  _ partner, _ I just, god.” His tongue was thick in his mouth. “It all just  _ sucks, _ so much, and it was easier to put it all on you. But that wasn’t fair.  _ Isn’t _ fair. So I’m sorry, Jon, I’m so sorry, and I’ll do better.”

Jon sighed, straightening up. “I appreciate that,” he said in a small, low voice, and god, Martin could just  _ kick _ himself. “But I think you’re taking too much on yourself.” Martin raised an eyebrow, and Jon went on, “We’re literally in hell, Martin. Of course you’re not handling things perfectly; how could you?”

“That’s not an excuse,” Martin said. “I should have been better to you, and if you want to stay together, I’m  _ going _ to be better to you.”

“Of course I want to stay together,” Jon said sharply. “I told you, I’m not  _ leaving _ you. Not unless you want to be left.”

“I don’t.”

“Good.” Jon ran a hand through his tangled hair and sighd again. “Look, the thing you have to understand is, you’re a human, and you’re a  _ good _ human, and when you go through hell you look for hope. You have to believe there’s a way to fix things, a way to put things right, because that’s how you’re made. But I’m  _ not  _ human, and I’m not made that way. I’m made to revel in the miseries of the world, to witness them and not interfere. I  _ will  _ interfere if ever I can, because I don’t want to be a monster, but I’m never going to reach for hope again, Martin. It’s not what I’m built for. So if you want me to do something, tell me and I’ll do it, because I love you, but you have to know that goes against all of my, my  _ programming. _

“I don’t have the answers on how to fix things. I know every ounce of suffering we pass through, I  _ feel _ it all, but I can’t feel that you love me back.” Martin leaned forward instinctively; Jon put a hand up. “I wish I had the answers you want, Martin. I’ve looked. But if they’re there, they’re blocked from my sight. So if you want to leave me, I’ll understand. I can’t really be good company anymore.”

He trailed off, and Martin let a few seconds lapse before saying, “Thank you for explaining that, Jon. And I’m sorry you had to. And I  _ do _ love you; I hope you know that, even if you can’t  _ know _ it.”

The ghost of a smile passed across Jon’s mouth. “I do.”

“I think it would be better if we... If we  _ talked _ to each other more,” Martin said. “You have your tapes, and that’s good, but I think we should check in with each other too.”

Jon nodded. “We can do that.” He rubbed his hands over his thighs. “And I would appreciate it if, in the future, you would snap me out of it by shaking me or something. Maybe some water to the face, if there’s any to hand.”

Martin wanted to throw up all over himself. “Absolutely. No more hitting.”

Jon pushed himself to his feet, looking around. “I think we’re in Distortion territory. Surprised Helen hasn’t turned up yet.” He put his hand out to Martin, expression soft. “We go on?”

“We go on,” Martin confirmed, and let Jon pull him to his feet.


End file.
